Vendetta

by riizebini

Chapter 12

Finally, there was something concrete, it was no longer just speculation and paranoia, but it was close, and far too dangerous.

Time kept slipping away.

Chanyoung didn’t think, he just walked out of the jewelry store while the rings were still being adjusted and dialed Wonbin’s number before the door even closed behind him.

The phone rang twice, Wonbin answered on the third.

“Hey, babe, I’m in the middle of a review. Can I call you back in twenty minutes?” His tone was light, distracted by work.

“No.”

That single word was enough, Wonbin went quiet immediately at the strained edge in his voice and the heavy breathing over the line.

“What happened?”

Chanyoung moved farther down the sidewalk, putting distance between himself and the store window. His jaw was tight, his voice controlled, but sharpened at the edges.

“Love, listen to me carefully, are you alone right now?”

There was the soft scrape of a chair moving, a door shutting with a hurried click.

“I am now.”

“Good.” Chanyoung let the air out slowly. “Until I come get you later, I need you to stay away from Sion.”

“What?” Wonbin’s voice dropped, not as confused as it should have been, but more alert. Deep down, he had always been wary of Sion.

“Don’t be alone with him, don’t meet him, don’t argue with him. And if he comes near you, you walk away, call me, stay in public areas, and please don’t leave the building by yourself.” His tone was low, but the tension was unmistakable.

The shift in Wonbin’s posture was immediate. He could hear it in Chanyoung’s voice, that was an order disguised as concern.

“Chanyoung…” he said carefully. “Why?”

“I’ll explain at home,” Chanyoung answered after a pause. It wasn’t resistance, it was strategic calculation, saying too much in a public place could be dangerous.

“Is this about the case?” Wonbin asked, anxious.

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. “I just need you to trust me for a few hours.”

Wonbin inhaled softly on the other end. He hated not knowing what was circling him, he hated even more being told to avoid someone without context. But at this point, after everything he had been through, he recognized that tone, this wasn’t paranoia or unfounded jealousy anymore, this was something real.

“Okay,” Wonbin said with a long sigh.

Chanyoung’s shoulders relaxed slightly at the lack of resistance this time.

“Okay for real?” Chanyoung asked to confirm.

“I’ll stay inside, I won’t talk to him, I’ll wait for you.” A small pause. “You’re really coming to get me?”

“I am.” No room for discussion.

Another pause, softer this time.

“You sound tense,” Wonbin murmured.

“I am.” He took a deep breath. “You’re my priority.”

“Are you safe?”

Chanyoung almost laughed at the reversal.

“I’m not the one you should be worried about, babe.”

That drew a quiet sigh from Wonbin.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. “I won’t do anything reckless.”

“You better not.”

A flicker of warmth cut through the tension despite everything.

“Come get me when you’re done,” Wonbin said. “We’ll talk at home.”

“I will.”

They stayed on the line half a second longer than necessary.

“Chanyoung?”

“Yeah?”

“I trust you.”

Those words weighed more than anything else that morning.

“Good,” Chanyoung replied, softer now. “Please stay safe.”

He ended the call, the tension still coiled in his chest, but steadier. Wonbin had agreed without pushing back, and he trusted that this time things wouldn’t spiral into another chaotic disappearance.

After picking up the rings, Chanyoung didn’t go home. He went straight to the police station.

The building felt louder than usual, footsteps echoing against cold tile, conversations overlapping in low tones. He cut through it all without slowing down, jaw locked, mind already three steps ahead.

He found Chief Kim Doyoung in his office, the door half-open.

“What do we have?” Chanyoung asked without preamble.

Doyoung looked up from a stack of papers.

“Not as much as you’d like, unfortunately.”

Chanyoung stepped inside and shut the door.

“Is the witness reliable?”

“He owns the storage warehouse near the forest trail, and the timeline checks out. He was out of town and came forward on his own.”

“And the name he heard?”

“Sion,” Doyoung confirmed neutrally. “He’s certain.”

Chanyoung’s shoulders tightened.

“Connection?”

“None we can prove.” Doyoung leaned back in his chair. “For now, it’s circumstantial, a name overheard during a phone argument near the kidnapping site. We don’t even know if it’s the same Sion.”

“It is.”

Doyoung studied him carefully.

“Personal conviction isn’t admissible evidence.”

“So what can we do?” Chanyoung exhaled slowly through his nose.

“For now?” Doyoung folded his hands on the desk. “We call him in to give a statement, voluntary questioning, and see if he slips.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s what the law allows with what we have.” Silence stretched between them for a few seconds. “If he’s involved,” Doyoung continued firmly, “we build the case properly, you know we don’t act on instinct.”

Chanyoung held his gaze, then nodded once. He understood the procedure, he just didn’t like waiting when Wonbin’s name was attached to risk.

“I’m going to get Wonbin,” he said abruptly, already standing and moving toward the door.

“Good,” Doyoung replied. “And Chanyoung?” He paused at the doorway and looked back. “Don’t let this get personal enough to make you careless.”

Chanyoung didn’t answer, he just left.

 

 

Wonbin was waiting outside the building when Chanyoung pulled up. He recognized the car immediately and got into the passenger seat without hesitation.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

“You look like you haven’t breathed all afternoon,” Wonbin said softly, gently brushing a few strands of hair back into place with quiet care.

Chanyoung leaned over and kissed his lips briefly before starting the engine.

“I probably haven’t.”

They were already driving home when Wonbin asked:

“So?”

Chanyoung kept his eyes on the road.

“A witness came forward. Two days before your kidnapping, he saw a taxi parked near the trail where you were found.”

Wonbin’s expression changed instantly, focused, alert.

“Okay. That’s good, that’s a lead.”

“He heard the driver arguing on the phone.” Chanyoung tightened his grip on the steering wheel without noticing. “He heard a name.”

Wonbin already knew, he could see it in Chanyoung’s posture, connecting it to what he’d been told earlier.

“Sion,” he said quietly.

Chanyoung shot him a quick glance.

“Yeah.” He chose his words carefully. “We can’t arrest him yet, it’s not enough, circumstantial. So for now, we’re calling him in for questioning.”

Wonbin leaned back in his seat, processing everything. His face didn’t show panic, it showed pieces sliding into place in his mind, mixed with memories.

“So you were right to tell me to stay away, huh? Who would’ve thought your jealousy made sense,” he murmured, joking in the middle of a terrible situation.

Chanyoung gave him a sharp look and squeezed his thigh in mock reprimand, but Wonbin let out a quiet laugh.

“Yes, this is serious,” Chanyoung replied immediately.

A stretch of silence followed.

“Do you think he’s directly involved?” Wonbin asked.

“I think he’s connected,” Chanyoung said carefully. “And until I know how, I don’t want you near him.”

Wonbin turned slightly, studying him.

“You’re talking like you’re about to put me under protective custody.”

“If I could without paperwork, I would, but you wouldn’t agree to it.”

That pulled a faint smile from Wonbin despite everything.

They arrived at the apartment under a heavier silence than usual.

The door shut behind them with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than it should have.

Inside, the tension shifted gradually, it didn’t disappear, it just settled, contained.

Wonbin dropped his backpack to the floor, and before he could say anything, Chanyoung stepped forward and pulled him into his arms.

It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t desperate.

It was firm, solid.

Like someone who feared that every embrace might be the last.

Wonbin let out a breath against his shoulder, his hands sliding automatically to his back.

“I’m okay,” he murmured.

“I know.” Chanyoung’s voice was low, close to his ear. “I just need to feel this.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing in the same rhythm.

“Are you scared?” Wonbin asked quietly.

“I am,” Chanyoung admitted this time, without dodging it, without pretending.

Wonbin’s hold tightened slightly, and he felt his eyes sting again.

“Me too.”

The honesty settled between them, not heavy, just real.

Chanyoung pulled back just enough to look at him.

“We’re going to handle this the right way, we won’t do anything reckless, we’ll let the investigation move forward.”

Wonbin nodded.

“Okay.”

They moved to the couch without fully separating, lying down closer than necessary. Wonbin settled against Chanyoung’s side, an arm wrapping around his waist, while Chanyoung rested his chin lightly on Wonbin’s hair.

Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, they remained intertwined, silent, steady, choosing closeness not out of panic, but certainty.

The next morning, Wonbin stayed home because officially Chanyoung insisted, unofficially because they both wanted him out of Sion’s sight for a good while.

By ten a.m., he had reorganized the spice rack, wiped down the kitchen counter twice, and smothered Sushi with excessive affection.

“I am not anxious,” he informed the cat, who blinked at him judgmentally.

He opened the hallway cabinet drawer with the vague intention of “organizing the mess,” since he was bored and far too restless to focus on painting or anything else.

He found receipts, old case notes, a broken watch, and just as Wonbin was about to label Chanyoung a secretly chaotic mess, he saw something that caught his attention.

In the corner, beneath a few papers, there was a small navy-blue velvet box.

Wonbin froze.

He stared at the box as if it might explode at any second.

“No way,” he whispered, startled.

He picked it up slowly, and his pulse immediately spiked for absolutely no reason other than instinct.

“This is not what I think it is,” he muttered.

Out of pure nosiness and curiosity, he carefully opened the box.

Inside were two rings of different sizes, one smaller, one slightly larger. They were simple, polished, and completely solid.

Wonbin went completely still for half a second.

“Oh my God.”

He covered his mouth with his hand, then laughed, then actually burst into full laughter.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he repeated under his breath, smiling so wide it hurt.

He took one of the rings out of the box, staring at it as if Chanyoung had just confessed his love in person.

“He bought them… He bought them!” he exclaimed, euphoric.

He slid the smaller ring onto his own finger, and it fit almost perfectly.

Wonbin let out a strangled sound of happiness that made Sushi jump off the couch in alarm and run toward him in the hallway.

“This is insane, this is insane…” he kept repeating, pacing in small circles with the ring in his hand, staring at it like it was magic.

He dramatically lifted his hand.

“Look at me…” he whispered to absolutely no one. “Look at me, Sushi!” he said, showing his hand to the cat, who stared at him in confusion.

He spun once, then actually jumped, then jumped again, because the first one hadn’t adequately expressed the level of happiness.

He pressed his lips together to avoid laughing too loudly and failed.

“He said ‘not officially,’” he muttered, breathless. “Liar, dramatic, but a determined liar.”

He impulsively kissed the ring and immediately panicked.

“Okay, calm down. Put it back, act surprised, act normal.”

Wonbin was definitely not going to be able to act normal, but for all practical purposes, he would try his best.

Carefully, he removed the ring, placed both back in the box exactly as they had been, closed it, and returned it to the drawer.

He shut the drawer, then opened it again, just to check.

It was still there.

He closed it once more and rested his forehead against the wood, smiling like a complete idiot.

“If he thinks I’m going to cry,” he whispered, pouting slightly, “he is very mistaken. I do not cry.”

He absolutely would cry, but the illusion made everything lighter.

Wonbin went back to the living room still smiling uncontrollably, hands pressed to his cheeks, Sushi followed him and continued staring.

“We’re getting married. Your parents are getting married,” he solemnly informed the cat. “Apparently.”

Then Wonbin scooped the cat into his arms and skipped around the apartment, humming some song he didn’t even remember the name of.

At the police station, Chanyoung had no idea about the commotion happening in his apartment. He was in Chief Kim Doyoung’s office, Sungchan had said the chief wanted to brief him directly about the case, so tension sat tight across his shoulders.

“We’re calling Sion this afternoon,” Doyoung said, reviewing the report. “Voluntary statement, then we’ll see how he reacts.”

Chanyoung nodded once.

“He’s been notified?”

“Not yet, we’re choosing the timing carefully.”

Chanyoung crossed his arms, jaw tight.

“And if he runs?”

“Then that tells us something.” Silence settled for a moment. “There’s more,” Doyoung added.

Chanyoung looked up.

“What?”

Doyoung studied him carefully, as if weighing something.

“Sungchan and the team gathered more information about this kid, Sion. Based on his routine, some things line up a little too closely with the days leading up to the kidnapping.”

Chanyoung’s expression hardened.

“Then we push him.”

“We question him, we don’t push,” Doyoung corrected firmly.

Chanyoung exhaled slowly.

“You think he’ll talk?”

“I think people underestimate how much pressure silence creates.”

Chanyoung nodded faintly, still unaware of certain facts surrounding the investigation.

He didn’t know about the photograph.

He didn’t know that days earlier, Wonbin had discreetly entered that same building and placed a recent photo of Chanyoung on Doyoung’s desk, a photo that had arrived anonymously inside a box.

A warning or a threat.

Doyoung hadn’t told him.

Not yet.

He watched Chanyoung now, controlled, focused, already too personally involved despite trying not to be.

“We’re doing this clean,” Doyoung said at last.

Chanyoung held his gaze.

“I always do.”

But there was something sharper underneath the words, because for him, this was no longer just a case.

And on the other side of the city, completely unaware of the layers still being kept from him, Wonbin was lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, smiling to himself like someone who had just discovered that the future was already tucked away in a drawer, waiting to happen.

Doyoung waited until the noise from the main floor quieted behind the closed office door.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

Chanyoung didn’t like the tone, but he waited.

Doyoung didn’t speak immediately, instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out a large evidence envelope, the kind reserved for things that mattered.

“What is that?” Chanyoung asked, already tense.

Doyoung opened it, took something out, and slid a photograph across the desk.

Chanyoung glanced down casually at first, and then stopped breathing.

It was him, recent, clear enough to recognize the jacket he’d worn a few days earlier. The angle suggested distance, taken without his knowledge and on the back, in firm lettering, there was a message.

The room went silent, very silent.

“Where did this come from?” Chanyoung asked, but his voice no longer held its usual steadiness.

Doyoung watched him carefully.

“Wonbin brought it.”

Chanyoung’s eyes snapped up.

“When?”

“A few days ago. He received it anonymously, it was delivered to your apartment.”

Chanyoung’s jaw tightened slowly, the muscle near his temple pulsing.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

Doyoung didn’t waver. He was too experienced for situations like this, and he was the one who set the rules here.

“He asked me not to.”

“What?”

“He said you’d react emotionally. That you might make a mistake.”

Chanyoung let out a short, incredulous breath.

“So you decided to keep me in the dark?”

“I decided to assess the threat before escalating it,” Doyoung corrected calmly. “And he was right about one thing.”

Chanyoung’s eyes sharpened.

“About what?”

“You’re reacting emotionally.”

The words were clean and clear.

Chanyoung stood abruptly and turned his back, running a hand through his hair, staring at the wall for a long moment as he tried to control the sudden wave of anger, not at Doyoung, not entirely.

At the situation, at whoever had taken that photo, at the fact that Wonbin had carried that alone.

“He thought I couldn’t handle it,” Chanyoung said quietly.

“No,” Doyoung replied. “He thought you’d prioritize him over procedure.”

Chanyoung let out a bitter laugh.

“I would.”

“I know.”

That was the problem.

Doyoung continued:

“He came here calm, logical, connected this to the kidnapping immediately and now he believes the focus shifted to you, to, in his own words, hurt him where it hurts most.” Chanyoung’s chest tightened at that. “He asked me to increase your external security without you noticing,” Doyoung finished.

Chanyoung turned back around.

“He asked what?”

“He didn’t want you distracted, or angry, or reckless.”

A long silence followed.

Chanyoung looked at the photograph again, at himself, unsuspecting, near his car.

Someone had been close enough to capture that, close enough to plan.

“He’s been different,” Chanyoung murmured, and Doyoung slightly raised an eyebrow. “More clingy, more present, I thought it was just…” He cut himself off.

Fear. 

Yes, fear, but not for his own safety, fear of seeing Chanyoung hurt.

“He didn’t want to scare you,” Doyoung said. “He was trying to protect you.”

The irony was sharp enough to cut.

Chanyoung picked up the photo again, studying it. His expression shifted, no explosion of anger, no panic, now it was cold focus.

“You should’ve told me,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Doyoung replied in the same tone. “But I needed to see if you could keep a cool head first. Can you?”

Chanyoung placed the photo back on the desk with deliberate control.

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation. “I’m trained enough.”

“Good. We’re going to find out who did this,” Doyoung assured him, putting the evidence away.

“That’s the plan.”

“And today, we bring Sion in.”

Chanyoung nodded once, restrained, decisive.

When he left the office, his posture looked the same as always: controlled, professional.

But underneath, something had shifted, because now it wasn’t just about a name overheard near a forest.

It was about a message.

And someone had been bold enough to send it.

 

 

The late afternoon light stretched thin across the apartment floor when Wonbin’s phone rang.

He was lying on the couch, eating sour candy with Sushi practically asleep against his neck, and he almost didn’t answer.

It was an unknown number, he only picked up because it might be work-related.

“Hello?”

“W-Wonbin…” The voice was shaky, stuttering, but he recognized it.

“Jaehee?” he asked, confused.

“I didn’t know who else to call.” He sounded breathless, panicked. “Sion knows, he knows the police are coming after him.”

Wonbin’s stomach flipped, and he stopped breathing for a second, gently moving Sushi to the floor.

“What do you mean he knows? What’s going on?”

“He called me, he was furious, said he always wanted you, and that someone talked too much. Said this should’ve been contained, I didn’t understand at first…” Jaehee’s breathing faltered. “And he said that…”

“What?” Wonbin demanded, already getting to his feet.

“He said he took Chanyoung, that it was all his fault.”

Everything inside Wonbin went cold.

“W-What?”

“He said he stopped playing defense. That if the police wanted him, then he’d make it personal for them too.”

Wonbin’s hand tightened around the phone so hard his knuckles hurt.

“Where is he? Do you know?”

“I… I think I do.”

“Think?” Wonbin’s voice cracked. “Jaehee, this is not the time to think.”

“There’s a house,” Jaehee blurted. “Outside the city, Sion bought it a few months ago. Technically in both our names.” His voice trembled. “He said he needed a quiet place, I thought it was true, I didn’t ask questions.”

“Do you have the address?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he repeated, firmer.

“Do you have a key?” Wonbin was already rushing around the apartment, grabbing his jacket.

A small silence.

“Yes. I have it.”

Wonbin pulled on his jacket with trembling hands.

“Take me there. Please.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Wonbin, this could be dangerous.”

“I don’t care.” His voice came out raw. “Take me.”

Silence again, Jaehee seemed to be weighing the risks.

“Okay, I’ll come get you.”

The call ended, and Wonbin immediately dialed Chanyoung.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Nothing.

He called again, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Pick up,” Wonbin whispered, trying one more time out of sheer hope and stubbornness. “Please, pick up.”

Nothing.

His heart was pounding so violently it felt hard to breathe, he forced himself to stop and think.

He opened his contacts and dialed emergency dispatch directly.

“This is Park Wonbin,” he said, his voice no longer trembling, just sharper, tighter. “Detective Lee Chanyoung may be in immediate danger. Possible kidnapping. I have the street name, Namhansanseong-ro.” He read the street name Jaehee had just texted him. “I’m heading there now, please, send units immediately.”

The operator confirmed.

Wonbin hung up just as headlights lit up the street below his window.

Probably Jaehee.

Wonbin cast one last look at the apartment.

At the couch, at Sushi, at the hallway drawer.

Everything that was supposed to be safe.

“Hold on,” he whispered to Chanyoung, and to himself.

Then he left.

Jaehee was pale behind the wheel, gripping it too tightly.

“You called the police?” he asked when Wonbin got in.

“I did.”

“Good.”

The drive felt endless, every red light was an insult, every slow car ahead unbearable.

“Why are you helping me?” Wonbin asked suddenly, staring at the road.

Jaehee swallowed.

“Because I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know how far he’d gone. I thought he was just in love with you, that it was just anger or wounded pride. I didn’t think he’d…” His voice broke. “I didn’t think he’d escalate like this.”

Wonbin didn’t respond.

He kept his phone in his hand the entire time, he tried calling Chanyoung two more times.

No answer.

When they finally turned onto a narrow road lined with trees, the sky was already darkening.

“It’s there,” Jaehee whispered.

A large house sat at the end of the gravel drive, lights off and windows dark.

Too much silence.

Jaehee parked a little distance away.

“I have the key,” he said, voice trembling again.

Wonbin’s heart felt like it might burst.

“Give me the key. I’ll go,” Wonbin said, looking at him.

“W-What? Alone?” Jaehee asked, and Wonbin nodded. “No, I’m going with you.”

“No, it could be dangerous…”

“Exactly. Let’s go,” Jaehee said, already stepping out of the car.

With every step, the tension tightened, it felt like they were walking straight into a lion’s den.

The house was darker inside than it had looked from the road.

Jaehee unlocked the door with shaking fingers, and Wonbin stepped in first.

“Chanyoung?” he called, his voice tense but firm, trying to make out shapes in the darkness.

The door shut behind him.

A sharp click followed, clearly locked.

Wonbin turned.

Too late.

Jaehee grabbed him from behind, one arm clamping tight across his chest while the other ripped the phone from his hand and pinned him. The device hit the floor and slid out of reach.

“Jaehee?!” Wonbin gasped in shock.

The grip vanished as quickly as it had appeared, Wonbin felt a shove between his shoulders and stumbled forward, catching himself, then froze when he turned around.

A gun was pointed directly at his chest.

Jaehee was no longer trembling, no longer panicked.

He was calm, cold.

“You shouldn’t have come here with me,” he said quietly, a sinister smile tugging at his mouth.

The air in the room shifted from fear to understanding.

“Where is Chanyoung?!” Wonbin demanded, nearly desperate for the only thing that mattered.

“There is no Chanyoung here.”

The words hit harder than the gun.

Wonbin’s pulse roared in his ears.

“You said…”

“I said what I needed to say.”

Silence pressed in around them.

“You lied,” Wonbin said, his voice steadying in a way that betrayed how fast his mind was racing.

“Yes. Like I said, you’re far too naive.” The smile faded and something else surfaced, older, darker. “My name isn’t Jaehee, it’s Daeyoung.”

The name meant nothing.

Not yet.

Daeyoung tilted his head slightly at Wonbin’s confusion.

“My father owned a flower shop in Ulsan, small, quiet, known for having the best lilies in the city. You don’t remember?”

Wonbin felt the impact physically, his head spun, his legs nearly giving out as his breathing sped up.

Lilies.

“My mom used to buy lilies,” he said before he could stop himself.

“Yes.” Daeyoung’s eyes narrowed and gleamed at the same time. “She did.”

The room seemed smaller with the tension consuming it.

“I used to watch her,” Daeyoung continued, the gun never wavering. “My father used to watch her walk into the store, for years. He was obsessed. The way she held the flowers, the way she smiled out of politeness, the way she never noticed him staring.” He scoffed softly. “He thought everything was a sign.”

Wonbin’s breathing stopped for a second.

“You’re his son.”

“Yes.” The word felt like a sentence. “My father loved your mother,” he said softly. “The way broken men love things they can’t have.” His jaw tightened. “And when she rejected him, when she told him to stop following her…” He exhaled slowly. “You know the rest.”

Wonbin’s hands curled at his sides, everything came back, his mother alive, then murdered, the trauma, the trial, the prison sentence.

“My father went to prison,” Daeyoung continued. “I went to a shelter.”

“I… I didn’t know…” Wonbin tried.

“Do you know what that’s like? Losing everything because of someone else’s ‘mistake’?” Daeyoung snapped, cutting him off, the gun unwavering. “Then he died in prison.” Wonbin swallowed. “I found out years later, after I was adopted, after I changed my name, after I decided to understand what really happened.” His voice hardened.

“I… I didn’t know…” Wonbin repeated, shaking.

“He didn’t die in a fight,” Daeyoung said and Wonbin’s throat went dry. “He was murdered by your father.”

“No,” Wonbin said automatically, a weak attempt at denial.

“Yes.” Daeyoung’s eyes burned now, not wild, but focused. “I investigated, I looked through records, and found officers willing to talk off the record. Your father made sure mine didn’t survive prison.”

Wonbin’s mind searched through memories, found silence, found a sudden change, found crises he had always assumed were caused by stress.

“The police in Ulsan knew,” Daeyoung continued. “They covered it up, called it inmate violence, and protected him.” Faint sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, but it didn’t seem to matter, this was the ending he had planned. “I lost my father because of your mother,” he said, a flicker of instability breaking through. “And then I lost him again because of your father.” His finger twitched slightly on the trigger. “So I decided to take from him the only thing he had left. And now, Wonbin, you’re the one who’s going to pay for your own father’s ‘mistake.’ I think that’s fair.”

Wonbin felt the meaning before the words fully landed.

The room went utterly still.

“You planned all of this,”— Wonbin said, his voice low.

“Yes.” The admission came without pride, without hesitation. “Breaking into your house was easy,” Daeyoung continued with a light laugh. “You really needed to improve your security.” Wonbin didn’t react to the sadistic edge of the joke. “Oh, and poor Sohee, unlucky enough to have a florist father when I needed to get your attention.”

“You’re horrible,” Wonbin accused, unable to hold back.

“You think so? How cute,” Daeyoung said, laughing louder. “And that idiot Sion? I only got involved with him because I investigated your life and knew he still hadn’t forgotten you,”  he went on. “He was predictable. Still hurt, still curious.”  A faint crooked smile. “I pretended to be jealous, pressed the right insecurities, let him believe you still wanted him.”

“That’s not possible…” Wonbin’s jaw tightened.

“It was easy,” Daehyun said with a shrug. “Sometimes people see what they’re afraid of seeing.”

“You manipulated him.”

“Obviously. And now he’s the suspect,” he laughed again.

“You kidnapped me,” Wonbin concluded angrily.

“Yes.”

“You threatened Chanyoung.”

A pause, and Daeyoung studied him longer than necessary.

“I needed you to understand what real fear feels like.”

The sirens were close now, very close.

Daeyoung’s expression shifted, something finally settling in.

“I’m going to destroy the last thing your father had, I don’t care about anything else anymore,” he said softly, as if saying something sweet, and then took a few steps toward Wonbin.

The gun remained steady.

The sirens stopped abruptly outside.

Red and blue lights sliced through the thin curtains, staining the dark room in violent colors.

Daeyoung reacted instantly, stepped forward, grabbed Wonbin by the collar, and yanked him back against his chest. The gun stopped pointing at his heart and was pressed hard against his ribs.

“Move,” he hissed.

Wonbin stumbled but stayed upright. His heart pounded wildly, but his face remained controlled.

A megaphone crackled outside.

“This is the police! Drop the weapon and come out with your hands visible!”

Daeyoung let out a humorless laugh near Wonbin’s ear.

“How perfect. You’ll probably die in front of the person who cares about you most.”

He dragged Wonbin toward the front window, keeping out of direct sight.

Outside, silhouettes shifted into position.

“Release the hostage!” the amplified voice ordered.

Daeyoung tightened his arm around him, pressing the barrel harder into his side.

“He’s not a hostage,” he replied calmly. “He’s leverage.”

Wonbin forced himself to breathe evenly.

Outside, another voice rang out, closer, familiar.

“Jaehee, please.”

Wonbin’s entire body reacted to the sound.

Chanyoung, he was there.

Of course he was.

“Let him go,” Chanyoung said, his voice controlled but firm through the chaos.

Daeyoung smiled slowly.

“Interesting,” he murmured against Wonbin’s ear. “You think he wants to bargain?”

Wonbin’s hands curled discreetly at his sides.

“Let him go,” Chanyoung repeated. “You want someone? Take me instead.”

The officers shifted uneasily at that, but no one managed to stop him as he stepped forward cautiously, then drew his gun from its holster and kicked it away, raising his hands in surrender.

Daeyoung fell silent for a long second.

Then he laughed.

“You know what?” he shouted. “Fine. I accept. I’ll trade.”

Wonbin’s stomach twisted.

“No,” he pleaded with tear-filled eyes, struggling against the grip.

“Yes,” Daeyoung continued loudly. “You come in alone, and he walks out.”

“Absolutely not!” Sungchan shouted through the megaphone, distraught at seeing his best friend do something so reckless.

Chanyoung didn’t hesitate.

“I’m coming in.”

“No! Chanyoung, no!” Wonbin thrashed in Daeyoung’s hold, but the gun pressed harder into his ribs.

“Careful,” Daeyoung warned quietly. “I might get nervous and finish you both.”

Chanyoung appeared in the doorway slowly, hands raised. Their eyes met, and for a second the world narrowed to that, one last look.

No, Wonbin wanted to say.

Chanyoung’s gaze answered without hearing him.

Trust me.

Daeyoung pulled Wonbin toward the door.

“You first,” he ordered Chanyoung.

Chanyoung crossed the threshold slowly, deliberately.

The instant he was fully inside, Daeyoung shoved Wonbin forward. The officers outside lunged, grabbing him and pulling him back.

But Daeyoung didn’t lose focus, he repositioned the gun, now aimed at Chanyoung.

“Back up!” an officer shouted.

Chanyoung didn’t move.

“It’s over,”  he said calmly. “You’re not getting out of this.”

“I don’t need to get out,” Daeyoung replied with a cynical smile. “I just need him to watch.”

His finger tightened on the trigger, Wonbin saw it coming, the subtle movement, the decision forming.

“No!” Wonbin screamed in pure terror.

The shot rang out.

Wonbin didn’t think, he just moved, found strength from somewhere and tore free from the officer, launching himself forward.

Straight between them.

The bullet meant for Chanyoung struck Wonbin.

The impact was brutal, hot, immediate. The air vanished from his lungs as he collided into Chanyoung, knocking them both to the ground.

Shouts and overlapping commands exploded around them.

Daeyoung was dragged down under the weight of officers storming the house.

But none of that mattered.

Because now Chanyoung was on his knees, holding Wonbin in his arms.

“No..” Chanyoung begged the sky, hands already searching for the wound, pressing, finding only blood, too much blood. “No, no, no.”

Wonbin’s vision darkened at the edges, he tried to speak, but only a weak sound escaped.

“Stay with me,” Chanyoung demanded, his voice breaking for the first time, tears already streaming. “Stay with me,” he repeated.

“I-I said…” Wonbin managed, a trembling, almost nonexistent smile touching his lips. “I don’t run.”

Blood soaked through Chanyoung’s fingers.

“Idiot,” he choked on a sob. “Why did you do that?”

“Because,” Wonbin whispered, his breathing failing, “if someone had to pay, it wouldn’t be you.”

Sirens wailed louder, and paramedics rushed inside.

Chanyoung pressed his forehead to Wonbin’s.

“You’re not leaving,” he said fiercely. “You don’t get that right. You can’t leave me.” Wonbin’s eyes fluttered and closed, losing consciousness. “No, please!” Chanyoung repeated, voice trembling as he held him tighter while the world around them erupted into controlled chaos.

The ambulance doors slammed shut.

Chanyoung still held Wonbin’s hand when the paramedics tried to separate them.

“Sir, we need space.”

“I’m not letting go.”

There was blood on his clothes, on his hands, on his face, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Wonbin lay pale on the stretcher, an oxygen mask over his face, eyes closed.

“Stay with me,” Chanyoung kept repeating, over and over, as if stopping would make something worse happen.

The ambulance sped off, monitors beeping too fast, too shrill.

“Gunshot wound, left anterior chest,” one paramedic announced. “Blood pressure dropping.”

The knot in Chanyoung’s throat tightened.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing blood-matted hair from Wonbin’s forehead. “You don’t get to be this dramatic. That’s my role.”

Wonbin’s fingers twitched faintly in his.

Then the ambulance doors flew open at the hospital.

The lights were harsh, everything was urgent.

“Trauma room two!” someone shouted.

They rushed Wonbin inside, but this time they pulled Chanyoung back.

“Sir, you can’t come in.”

“I’m…” his voice failed, he swallowed hard. “I’m his…”

What was he? Partner, almost fiancé, everything.

“I’m family,” he finished hoarsely.

They didn’t argue, they moved with understanding at the desperation in his voice.

The trauma room doors closed.

Chanyoung stood there, hands still covered in blood that was somehow still warm.

For a moment he didn’t move.

Then his knees gave out, and Sungchan, who had followed close behind, caught him before he hit the floor.

“Chanyoung!”

“I’m fine,” he answered automatically, leaning on his friend.

He wasn’t fine, not even close.

The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright drained all at once, leaving behind trembling hands and a hollow, nauseating terror.

He sank into one of the waiting room chairs, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

His phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.

Other officers, unknown numbers, then friends, family.

The news had spread fast.

By the time the first hour passed, the waiting room was no longer empty.

Sion arrived first, straight from the police station after reporting that Jaehee had been the one to say his name during the call the witness overheard and confirmed it with the call log records. His face was pale now, eyes red, clearly having heard everything that had happened. He stopped short when he saw Chanyoung.

“I didn’t know,” Sion said, his voice breaking. “I swear I didn’t know.”

Chanyoung didn’t look at him, he couldn’t, not yet.

Others came after, colleagues from the station, their faces tight and closed off. And then the only blood family of Wonbin that Chanyoung knew until then, his father. He walked in like a man braced for impact, but when he saw the blood on Chanyoung’s clothes, his composure shattered.

“Where is he?”

“In surgery,” Chanyoung managed to say, the words felt foreign in his mouth. “They’re operating.”

Wonbin’s father nodded once, trying to look strong and controlled, but his hands were shaking too badly.

More friends arrived, low voices, footsteps too loud in the hallway. The waiting room filled with silent prayers, stiff backs, restless pacing.

Chanyoung didn’t move, not even when his own parents appeared to support him. He stayed hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the double doors as if he could force it to open by sheer will.

Every time it shifted, even slightly, his head snapped up.

The hours dragged.

At some point, someone placed a cup of water in his hands, but he didn’t drink it.

Doyoung arrived last and stood beside Chanyoung for a long moment before speaking.

“You saved each other,” he said quietly.

Chanyoung let out a hollow laugh.

“He jumped in front of a bullet.”

“Yes.”

“It was my duty to protect him,” Chanyoung whispered.

“He made a choice.” Doyoung’s voice remained steady.

Choice.

That word again.

After what felt like an eternity, the surgery doors finally opened.

Everyone in the room stood at the same time.

A surgeon stepped out, mask lowered, eyes tired, but not dark.

Chanyoung couldn’t breathe.

“So?” Wonbin’s father asked, his voice tight.

The surgeon looked at all of them.

“He’s in critical condition,” he said plainly. “But the bullet passed within inches of his heart. We were able to control the bleeding.”

The room exhaled in fragments.

“He’s not out of danger yet,” the doctor continued. “The next twenty-four hours are decisive.”

Critical, but alive.

Chanyoung’s vision blurred, he didn’t realize he was crying until someone touched his shoulder.

He sank back into the chair, covering his face with his hands as his body finally gave in to everything he’d been holding back since the gunshot.

No noise, no drama.

Just the silent collapse of a man who had almost lost everything.

Again.

 

 

 

The ICU was too quiet.

After a great deal of insistence, Chanyoung had been granted a brief visit, on the condition that he remain calm and careful.

But maybe he hadn’t been prepared to see machines breathing for Wonbin beneath lights that were far too cold.

Chanyoung stood in the doorway for a few seconds before stepping inside, as if crossing that threshold would make everything too real.

Wonbin was pale, there were tubes, wires, the steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the emptiness.

Chanyoung approached slowly, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He took Wonbin’s hand carefully and felt how cold his skin was. He held it like he was afraid he might break him.

“You always said I was the dramatic one,” Chanyoung murmured, voice low and rough from crying. “But this… this is excessive, even for you.”

No response, just the sound of the machine.

Chanyoung swallowed hard, then slipped a hand into his coat pocket, his fingers found the small box.

The box Wonbin had discovered that morning, the box he had held, smiling like an idiot.

Chanyoung opened it slowly, the rings caught the room’s sterile light.

“I asked my mom to bring this to me. I wanted you to see it,” he whispered. “I was going to do it right, I was going to plan something nice, get down on one knee, pretend I wasn’t dying of nerves.” His hand trembled. “I was going to ask you to marry me.”

The monitor kept beeping, but it sounded slower somehow.

Chanyoung lowered his forehead to Wonbin’s hand.

“You can’t do this to me. You can’t save me and then leave.”

The monitor made a different sound, a strange pause.

Chanyoung lifted his head, startled.

The beeping stretched too long.

Then a continuous tone tore through the room.

Chanyoung froze.

“What…”

Nurses rushed in within seconds, moving with coordinated urgency.

“Cardiac arrest! Code blue!” someone called out.

“Sir, you need to step back!”

“No!” Chanyoung shouted, gripping Wonbin’s hand tighter. “Wonbin! Wonbin, open your eyes, look at me!”

Hands grabbed his shoulders.

“Sir, move away!”

“He just… I was talking to him!”

The monitor continued its flat, cruel sound, no rhythm, no life.

“Charging to 200!” someone announced.

“Clear!”

Wonbin’s body arched with the shock.

Chanyoung screamed in pure desperation.

“LET ME STAY!” He tried to push forward, but two nurses and a security guard held him back. “Wonbin!” he cried again.

“Charging!”

Another shock.

The continuous tone seemed endless.

Chanyoung struggled as they dragged him toward the door.

“HE CAN’T…” His voice broke. “He can’t die.”

The ICU door closed in his face and the sounds became muffled on the other side, but he could still hear them in his head.

He saw the straight line, heard the unbroken tone.

He dropped to his knees in the hallway.

“No…”

Not like that, not after everything, not after the proposal he hadn’t even finished.

In the corridor, Chanyoung pounded on the door with his fist, tears falling without restraint. Inside, doctors moved too fast to follow, and the monitor made no sound at all.

He didn’t remember being led away.

He only remembered the sound, the door closing.

After that, everything fractured in his mind.

He was on the ICU hallway floor when someone held his face.

“He’s hyperventilating, cold hands, take him to the room next door.”

“I need to go back,” Chanyoung tried to say, but the words came out broken. “He’s alone, he…”

His vision darkened at the edges, and the body that had endured chases and sleepless nights finally decided it was too much.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on a gurney.

Oxygen mask on his face and someone holding his pulse.

“Take a deep breath, son.” The voice was worried and familiar. His mother stood beside him.

He pulled the mask away.

“Wonbin.” It was the first thing he managed to say.

“The doctors are working on him,” his mother tried to reassure him.

“I heard the monitor, I saw…” he tried to explain, and she stroked his hair gently.

“I know…”

The memory hit like a punch. That flat line.

He sat up suddenly and the room spun.

“You had an extreme stress moment” a doctor explained, stepping closer. “Your blood pressure dropped sharply.”

Chanyoung dragged a hand down his face. His hands were clean now, no blood, he had changed and washed up before going in to see Wonbin.

“I need to know what happened to him.”

No one answered, the silence was too cruel.

Minutes passed, or hours, he couldn’t tell anymore, he was lost inside his own head.

Then the door to the small room opened, and Kim Doyoung walked in.

The chief looked different, not the firm commander from the police station, just a man with red eyes, clearly holding back his own emotion.

Chanyoung stood before he even spoke.

“Tell me.” His voice came out hoarse. “Just tell me.”

Doyoung stayed silent for a few seconds.

Too many seconds.

Chanyoung’s heart started hurting all over again.

“Chanyoung…”

He shook his head, feeling the desperation rise once more.

“No, don’t start like this.”

Doyoung took a deep breath.

“He came back.”

The world stopped.

“What?”

“After the third shock, his heart started beating again.”

Chanyoung stood motionless, no blinking, no breathing.

“And… is he stable?”

“I don’t know yet. But “miracle” doesn’t even begin to cover what just happened,” Doyoung said, his voice breaking for the first time. “The doctors said it was seconds, a few more seconds and…”

He didn’t finish, he didn’t have to.

Chanyoung pressed a hand to his chest as if his own heart was trying to break free.

“He… he’s alive?”

“He is.”

The word echoed.

Alive.

His legs gave out again, but this time it wasn’t collapse, it was relief too violent to fit inside his body.

He let out a broken laugh, somewhere between sobbing and disbelief.

“He’s always been stubborn.”

Doyoung allowed himself a small, tired smile.

“Seems like he didn’t want to leave before hearing the full proposal.”

Then Doyoung handed him the velvet box, which must have fallen somewhere along the way.

Chanyoung gripped it tightly.

“I didn’t even get to start.”

“Then you’ll have time,” Doyoung replied. “Slowly. He’s still critical.”

Chanyoung nodded, tears slipping down his face without any attempt to hide them.

He had almost lost him, almost lost everything.

But Wonbin had come back by something close to a miracle, and this time, when he said those words, he would make sure Wonbin was awake to hear them.

 

 

The days passed far too slowly.

The ICU became routine. The sound of the monitors stopped being constant terror and turned into a silent form of vigilance.

Wonbin remained fragile, sedated most of the time, tubes still attached to his body, his chest wrapped in bandages.

But his heart…

His heart kept beating.

Chanyoung practically didn’t leave the hospital. He slept crooked in the chair beside the bed, drank terrible vending machine coffee in the hallway, and answered work calls in a whisper.

The doctors told him he needed to rest, but he ignored them.

Every time the monitor shifted even slightly, he shot to his feet in alarm, every time Wonbin’s breathing sounded even a little different, he grabbed his hand as if he could anchor him back to life.

“You owe me a calm wedding,” he would murmur sometimes. “No ambulances in the middle of the ceremony.”

For a long time, there was no response.

Until one morning that was far too quiet, Wonbin’s finger twitched and Chanyoung noticed instantly.

He had been leaning over reports he wasn’t even reading.

Chanyoung felt the faintest pressure against his hand and froze, barely daring to believe it.

“Wonbin?”

His eyelashes fluttered, slow and heavy, as if the world was too overwhelming to face all at once.

His eyes opened in narrow slits at first, unfocused. The light seemed to bother him.

Chanyoung stood so quickly he nearly knocked the chair over.

“Hey… hey, easy.”

Wonbin blinked a few times, trying to understand where he was. He took in the white ceiling with difficulty, the sterile hospital smell, the weight in his chest.

Then his eyes found Chanyoung’s.

Confused at first, then recognizing.

Chanyoung looked different, thinner, deep dark circles under his eyes, but he was there, still holding his hand like he had never let go.

Wonbin’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

Chanyoung leaned closer immediately.

“Shh. Don’t talk yet.”

Wonbin’s eyes grew wet. He tried to lift his free hand, but he was too weak.

Chanyoung helped, guiding his fingers to his own face.

“You scared me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “A lot.”

A tear slipped from the corner of Wonbin’s eye.

He remembered the gunshot, the sound, the pain, the cold.

His fingers tightened around Chanyoung’s hand with the little strength he had.

Chanyoung pressed his forehead to Wonbin’s hand, breathing deeply as if only now allowing his body to truly relax.

“Never do that again,” Chanyoung said.

Wonbin’s eyes asked the question without words.

“You tried to leave,” he continued, swallowing hard. “But you decided to stay.”

The monitor marked a steady rhythm.

Wonbin blinked slowly, then, with visible effort, he moved his lips again. This time, a hoarse, barely audible sound came out.

“You…”

Chanyoung leaned even closer.

“Me.”

The faintest trace of a smile appeared on Wonbin’s pale face.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Not the trauma, not the fear, not the past.

Just the fact that when Wonbin opened his eyes after nearly dying, the first thing he saw was Chanyoung.

 

 

 

Recovery was slow and painful.

Physical therapy every day, short walks down the hospital corridor, measured breaths.

Wonbin hated depending on others, hated feeling his own body fragile.

But every time he faltered, Chanyoung’s hand was there to steady him.

“Easy,” he would murmur. “You’re not running a marathon.”

“You talk like I haven’t already won one,” Wonbin replied once, weak but with that stubborn spark in his eyes.

Chanyoung nearly cried right there.

When he was finally discharged, the world felt different. The air outside the hospital was sharper, more alive, the sky looked bluer.

The house was quiet when they stepped inside.

Wonbin paused in the doorway for a few seconds, taking it all in, the couch, the bookshelf, the familiar scent. He had thought he might never see it again.

Chanyoung noticed and, without saying anything, took his hand.

Wonbin squeezed back.

“Where’s our baby Sushi?” he asked, looking around.

Chanyoung laughed softly.

“Sungchan and Shotaro are bringing him later. He stayed with them for a while.”

After all, Chanyoung had spent most of his time at the hospital. It wouldn’t have been right to leave Sushi alone for so long. Their friends had stepped in without hesitation.

“I missed all of this,” Wonbin murmured, looking into Chanyoung’s eyes.

“I know,” Chanyoung said, pulling him into a careful, relieved embrace.

They were there, together again.

 

 

 

Weeks passed.

The scar on Wonbin’s chest was still new, the pain still flared occasionally.

But his heart beat strongly.

One night, sitting on the couch, lights dimmed, a comfortable silence between them, Wonbin brought it up.

“I thought I was going to die.”

Chanyoung turned his head slowly.

“I thought so too.”

Wonbin took a deep breath.

“When I threw myself in front of you, it wasn't an impulse.” Chanyoung went still, watching him closely. “I thought about what to do.” His voice was calm, strangely serene. “I thought you were worth more than my fear.”

Chanyoung felt his chest tighten.

Months earlier, it had been him who said something similar, that you could choose if someone was worth more than any fear.

“Wonbin…”

“I remembered what you told me,” Wonbin continued, and Chanyoung swallowed hard. “I chose you, even if it costs everything.”

Chanyoung didn’t answer with words. He simply pulled Wonbin closer, careful out of habit, as if his body were still made of glass.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he murmured into his hair.

Wonbin closed his eyes.

“I know. But I did it because I love you.”

There was peace in his voice.

 

 

 

Things slowly began to settle back into place.

Wonbin started doing the things he loved again. Chanyoung cherished the familiar warmth that had returned to the apartment.

Daeyoung had been arrested and would likely stand trial soon, but they avoided his name. They didn’t want to break the fragile peace they were rebuilding inside the place they called home.

That night, the house felt different.

The lights were dimmer, soft decorative lights glowed around the room, flowers sat on the table, violets.

Wonbin stopped in the middle of the living room when he walked in from another therapy session. He looked genuinely surprised.

“What’s all this?”

Chanyoung stepped out from the hallway, not in a formal suit, just normal clothes, just him, completely nervous. More nervous than he ever was facing armed criminals.

“I had planned something else,” he began. “Maybe a restaurant, something elegant. No tragic surprises.”

Wonbin let out a soft laugh as Chanyoung approached slowly.

“But I realized the place was never what mattered.” He pulled the small box from his pocket, the same one he had bought before. This time, his hands trembled less. “I almost lost you and when you opened your eyes, I knew I didn’t want to wait for any perfect moment anymore.”

He took a deep breath and knelt down.

Wonbin covered his mouth, tears already streaming before the words even came. He hadn’t expected any of this. Truthfully, he had only cared about being alive, with Chanyoung.

“You saved me,” Chanyoung said. “And then you chose to live. With me.” He opened the box and looked up at him. “Wonbin, will you marry me?”

The world seemed to pause.

Wonbin’s heart, the same one that had stopped, beat hard now, alive.

He took a step forward, then another, tears falling freely.

“Do you really think I have a choice?” he whispered, smiling through tears.

Chanyoung let out a nervous half-laugh.

“There’s always a choice.”

Wonbin knelt too, holding Chanyoung’s face in both hands.

“Then I choose you.” His voice was steady. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

Chanyoung slid the ring onto his finger carefully, like something sacred. Wonbin took the other from the box and placed it on Chanyoung’s finger as well.

Neither of them noticed when they started laughing through their tears.

Then Chanyoung leaned in, pressing his lips to Wonbin’s in a kiss that carried the promise of a new future.

There was no more fear.

Just the two of them.

And a curious little cat watching the whole thing.

 

 

 

The newsroom was exactly the same.

The same noise, the same cold coffee everyone pretended to like, and deadlines louder than people.

Wonbin stood at the entrance holding a neat stack of envelopes, cream paper with violet details, delicate lettering announcing the symbolic wedding ceremony.

His wedding with Chanyoung.

He took a deep breath.

“Okay, peaceful mission this time, just paper and happiness,” he muttered to himself like a mantra.

He walked in, and no one noticed at first.

Until a colleague looked up.

“You’re back!”

“I’m back. And this time without an ambulance.”

A few laughs echoed, the mood instantly lightened.

Wonbin started placing envelopes on desks.

“What’s this?” a curious journalist asked.

“An invitation. You’ll see me in a suit, prepare yourselves emotionally.”

But he stopped mid-step when he noticed something.

Eunseok was leaning a little too close against editor Jina’s doorframe. And she was standing a little too close to him.

“Hm,” Wonbin murmured, crossing his arms to hide a grin.

Jina looked up and saw him, clearly trying to regain her professional composure while Eunseok smiled like he had just discovered the meaning of life.

“Am I interrupting something?” Wonbin asked, walking closer.

Eunseok turned red instantly.

“No! I mean… Wonbin?!”

He pulled Wonbin into a tight hug.

“Hey, Seok,” Wonbin laughed when he let go. “You’re hugging me like you didn’t visit last week.”

“I don’t know how to live without you,” Eunseok dramatized, making Wonbin laugh.

“Sure, so what are you two doing?”

Jina cleared her throat.

“We’re… discussing a joint article.”

“Of course. Very collaborative.” Wonbin handed them two invitations. “Just so you know, you’ll be seated separately at the ceremony. No couples stealing the spotlight.”

Eunseok nearly dropped the envelope.

Wonbin waved and walked away, laughing to himself.

But the second surprise of the day was worse, or better, but definitely more unexpected.

The chief editor’s office door was slightly open.

Inside, Lee Taeyong was sitting very close to someone Wonbin knew far too well: Kim Doyoung, the chief of the police.

“I swear the press exaggerates,” Taeyong was saying in an oddly intense tone.

“And I swear you don’t tell half the story,” Doyoung replied, leaning in closer.

Wonbin froze at the door.

“Should I start charging commission for matchmaking?”

Both of them jumped.

Taeyong immediately adjusted his blazer.

“WONBIN! Long time no see!”

“I just came to drop off an invitation, but apparently I need to hand out two.”

The chief Doyoung coughed discreetly.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Wonbin replied, handing over the envelope with a mischievous smile. “And I fully support it. Dramatically.”

He left before he could hear any more awkward excuses.

Later, after catching up with half the building, Sion appeared.

His eyes were tense, expression tight, guilt disguised as normalcy.

Sion invited Wonbin for coffee in the building coffee shop. When they sat across from each other, the silence between them was lighter than before, still delicate, but no longer hostile.

Wonbin offered a small, almost nostalgic smile.

“You didn’t have to agree to come.” Sion stirred his cup.

“I did.” Wonbin shrugged.

Sion took a deep breath and held his gaze for a long few seconds.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know anything,” Wonbin replied immediately. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Sion shook his head.

“Even so, I should have noticed.”

Wonbin stayed quiet for a moment, then offered a small but sincere smile.

“Sometimes we only notice what we want to see.”

Sion nodded.

“I heard you’re getting married.”

“I am. And this time without a stray bullet in the script.” Wonbin joked, laughing at the tragedy he survived.

A faint smile crossed Sion’s face.

“He’s lucky.”

Wonbin thought for a moment.

“I am too.”

“I can imagine.” Sion took a sip of his coffee.

“If you want to come, you’re welcome.” Wonbin handed him one of the last invitations. Sion studied it carefully and nodded, not giving a final answer.

The coffee ended without tension, it felt like closure.

Back at the newsroom, Wonbin held the last envelope he’d forgotten to deliver earlier in all the commotion.

It wasn’t an invitation.

It was his resignation letter.

He knocked on Taeyong’s office door.

“If this is about commenting on my love life, I refuse,” his boss warned before he even stepped inside.

Wonbin laughed out loud.

“No, this is about my professional one.”

He placed the letter on the desk and Taeyong frowned.

“What’s this?”

“I don’t want to write about tragedies anymore.” There was a pause before Wonbin continued. “I spent years telling stories about pain, about crimes, about death.” He took a deep breath. “I almost became one of them.”

Taeyong watched him carefully.

“And now?”

“Now I want a new beginning.” A faint smile curved Wonbin’s lips. “Maybe write about art, about music, about people who are alive.”

Taeyong stayed quiet for a few long seconds, then stood and extended his hand.

“You were always bigger than this newsroom.”

Wonbin shook it firmly.

“Thank you for everything.”

When he walked out for the last time, there was no weight on him, only expectation.

His phone buzzed, a message from his now-fiancé.

“Did you tell everyone?”

Wonbin smiled as he walked under the open sky.

“Yes, and I found out the whole world is dating except us.”

The reply came almost instantly.

“Correction: we’re engaged.”

Wonbin stopped on the sidewalk, looking at the ring on his finger. His heart beat strong, whole, ready to begin again.

 

 

The bed was an organized mess.

The comforter rumpled, pillows stacked like improvised support, an oversized tray balanced dangerously in the middle, and a cat sleeping peacefully at their feet.

On the TV, an over-the-top romantic movie played, with a soundtrack far too loud and declarations made in the middle of the rain.

Wonbin was leaning against Chanyoung’s chest, using chopsticks with dramatic concentration.

“If you spill sauce on the new comforter, I’m reconsidering the wedding,” Chanyoung warned.

“You didn’t mention sauce when you proposed.”

Chanyoung laughed, kissing the top of his head.

“There’s still time to add clauses.”

Wonbin smiled against his chest, far too comfortable.

The heart beneath his ear beat steady, and every time he heard it, there was a second of quiet gratitude.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand.

“I think I delivered all the invitations.”

“‘I think’ is not something that reassures me.

“Relax, neurotic detective.”

Wonbin rolled slightly so he was facing him.

“There’s just one thing left.”

“Hm?”

“Our parents’ invitations.”

Chanyoung went quiet for a moment.

“We can have dinner at my parents’ house tomorrow,” he suggested naturally. “My mom will pretend to be surprised even though she’s known since the day I bought the rings.”

Wonbin laughed.

“She already knows?”

“She always knows everything. It’s terrifying.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, but Wonbin didn’t seem completely relaxed.

Chanyoung noticed.

“And your dad?”

Wonbin took a deep breath. The ceiling suddenly became very interesting.

“I want to go to Ulsan.”

The word lingered in the air.

Ulsan wasn’t just a city. It was a memory, it was guilt, it was a past that still breathed.

Chanyoung didn’t answer right away, he just brushed his thumb slowly along Wonbin’s cheek.

“Are you sure?”

Wonbin nodded slowly.

“He’s…” his voice dropped “he’s wasting away in guilt, I know he is.” He didn’t elaborate, and Chanyoung didn’t ask. Some things needed to be respected and kept in silence. “Because of what happened to my mom, because of what happened after.” Wonbin tried to explain without detonating another bomb in their peace.

Chanyoung squeezed his hand.

“None of that was your fault either.”

“I know.” Wonbin turned to meet his eyes. “But I don’t want my wedding built on silence.” The honesty was raw. “I almost died, Chanyoung. I don’t want to leave anything unresolved anymore.”

The movie kept playing some dramatic scenes on the TV, but neither of them was paying attention.

Chanyoung gently touched the scar on his chest, the way he always did, not as something fragile, but as something that survived.

“Then we’ll go.”

Wonbin blinked.

“We?”

“Did you think I’d let you face that alone?”

Wonbin tried to keep a serious expression and failed.

“You have to work.”

“I’ll take time off.”

“Your mom’s going to think I’m kidnapping you.”

“She already does.”

Wonbin laughed for real now, his laugh still carrying a faint leftover strain from recovery, but alive.

“I want to hand it to him personally,” he said more calmly. “I want to look him in the eye and tell him I’m okay. That I chose to move forward.” He touched his ring. “That I chose to love you.”

Chanyoung cupped his face with both hands.

“He’ll see it.”

“And if he doesn’t know what to say?”

“Then you do the talking.”

Wonbin was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

“You’re annoyingly balanced.”

“I almost lost you. I evolved.”

Wonbin leaned in and kissed him slowly, without urgency, without fear, just tenderness.

When he pulled back, he murmured:

“So tomorrow, your parents.”

“And then Ulsan.”

Wonbin nodded.

On the TV, the fictional couple was kissing under fireworks.

“Our movie’s better.”

Chanyoung raised an eyebrow.

“Lower budget. More trauma.”

“But the ending’s good.”

Chanyoung pulled him back against his chest.

“It’s still just beginning.”

And there, lying among their cat, laughter, and difficult plans, there was no fear. Just two men who had almost lost everything and decided, anyway, to build something bigger than the past.

 

 

Chanyoung’s parents’ house smelled like homemade food before they even parked.

“I smell at least five different side dishes,” Wonbin murmured, adjusting his shirt nervously.

“That means my mom is officially excited,” Chanyoung replied, squeezing his hand before ringing the doorbell. “Breathe. You know they love you.”

The door opened before the second ring and Chanyoung’s mother appeared first, her smile too wide to contain.

“Finally!”

Wonbin barely had time to bow politely before being pulled into a tight hug.

“You’ve lost weight. I don’t like it. We’re fixing that tonight.”

“Mom…” Chanyoung tried to intervene.

“Be quiet, he almost died, you didn’t.”

Wonbin laughed, half embarrassed, half emotional.

When he stepped into the living room, he stopped short. Chanyoung’s father was standing there, smiling, not the discreet, formal smile, but an open, proud one.

“You’re walking well,” he said immediately, looking Wonbin over from head to toe as if checking every detail.

“I am, sir.”

The man nodded, satisfied.

“Good. Because we have a lot to celebrate.”

Chanyoung blinked, almost confused.

“You’re very… happy.”

“Of course I’m happy,” his father replied, almost offended. “My son is marrying someone who had the courage to throw himself in front of a bullet for him. How exactly should I be?”

Wonbin flushed instantly.

“I… it wasn’t…”

“It was love,” his father interrupted naturally. “And love requires courage.”

Chanyoung stood frozen, too surprised to react, while his mother was already organizing the table like it was a diplomatic event.

“Did you pick a date?”

“Yes,” Wonbin answered, smiling.

“Good, because I’ve already thought of a thousand and one better venues than whatever you’ve imagined.”

Chanyoung let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course you have.”

His mother was already pulling out a notebook.

“A symbolic ceremony needs meaning. Do you prefer outdoors? A garden? An indoor space?”

“We were thinking of something simple,” Chanyoung replied.

“Simple is elegant,” she cut in. “But elegant requires planning.”

Chanyoung’s father sat at the table and tapped the chair beside him.

“Sit here, Wonbin. I want to know how you’re really doing.”

The tone wasn’t interrogation, it was care. Wonbin sat without protest.

“I’m okay, but it still hurts sometimes.”

“It hurts because it reminds you you’re alive,” the man replied with steady calm.

Soon the table was full. Chanyoung’s younger brother arrived and hugged Wonbin like he truly was his brother.

There was too much food, too much laughter.

At one point, Wonbin pulled the envelope from the inside pocket of his coat.

“Actually, we came to deliver this in person.”

He handed the invitation over with both hands. Chanyoung’s mother pressed a hand to her chest before even opening it. His father took the envelope with almost exaggerated solemnity, and when he read it, his eyes shone.

“So it’s official.”

Chanyoung slipped an arm around Wonbin’s shoulders.

“It’s official.”

His mother was already crying quietly.

“I want to help with everything,” she declared. “Flowers, guest list, catering, music.”

“Mom…”

“And you’re doing a full rehearsal. I don’t want anyone fainting and ruining it.”

Wonbin laughed loudly.

“I’m the most likely candidate, but I promise to stay upright.”

Chanyoung’s father raised his glass.

“A toast.” Everyone paused to look at him. “To second chances, to courage, and to the fact that you two are stubborn enough to survive anything.”

Glasses clinked.

And Wonbin felt something warm spread through his chest. It wasn’t just happiness, it was belonging.

He met Chanyoung’s gaze and the smile there was calm, steady.

For the first time since everything happened, the future felt simple.

 

 

 

The road to Ulsan felt longer than Wonbin remembered, the chaos of the city slowly giving way to quiet.

Sushi complained for half the drive inside his carrier, meowing indignantly every time the car took a sharper curve.

“He’s judging your driving skills,” Wonbin commented, glancing at the rearview mirror.

“I’m starting to think he hates me,” Chanyoung replied with mock offense.

“No, he just has a favorite parent,” Wonbin teased.

But the light humor didn’t hide the tension.

As tall buildings gave way to quieter streets, Wonbin felt his chest tighten. It wasn’t fear, it was memories.

His father’s house looked the same from the outside, but the garden was unkempt now, and the gate let out a louder creak when it opened.

Wonbin stepped out first, Chanyoung grabbed Sushi’s carrier and approached slowly, respecting the other’s silence.

The door opened before they even knocked.

Wonbin’s father stood there, thinner, more hunched, his hair whiter than the last time.

He froze when he saw them.

“Wonbin…” His voice came out rough.

His eyes shifted to Chanyoung, then to the carrier in his hands, from which Sushi let out a loud meow as if announcing himself.

“You… came together.”

“We did,” Wonbin answered calmly.

There was a second of hesitation before his father opened the door wider.

“Come in, I made cake and tea.”

The smell was familiar, too sweet, almost comforting.

The living room seemed smaller than Wonbin remembered. Or maybe he had just outgrown it.

Chanyoung set Sushi down and opened the carrier. The cat stepped out cautiously, sniffing the new environment with immediate curiosity.

“I’ll stay outside for a bit,” Chanyoung said, sensing that the conversation wasn’t for him. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

Wonbin nodded gratefully.

When the sliding glass door closed behind Chanyoung, the silence in the living room grew heavier.

His father poured tea with hands that trembled slightly.

“You’re better,” he said, not quite able to look directly at his son.

“I am.”

Another silence. Years of unspoken things compressed into that space.

His father finally sat down.

“I never wanted you to find out that way.”

Wonbin took a slow breath.

“I know.”

“I thought I was protecting you.”

Protecting. The word carried weight.

Wonbin looked at the man in front of him. He no longer saw the imposing figure from childhood, he saw someone consumed by guilt.

He knew the truth, he knew what had happened in prison, he also knew that if he chose to expose everything, his father likely wouldn’t survive behind bars.

But at that moment, morality felt too distant to dissect.

“I didn’t come here to relive it,” Wonbin said firmly.

His father lifted his eyes for the first time.

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

Wonbin rested his hands on his knees, organizing his thoughts.

“I spent too much time living inside what happened. Inside the guilt, the anger, the doubt.” His father’s breathing grew heavier as Wonbin spoke. “I don’t want that anymore.”

“Wonbin…”

“I know what you did.”  His voice wasn’t accusatory, it was factual. “And I know why.”

His father closed his eyes, tears slipping out before he could stop them.

“I would do it all again,” he admitted. The honesty hurt, but it didn’t surprise.

Wonbin nodded slowly.

“I figured.”

The atmosphere shifted, it wasn’t confrontation anymore, it was exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,”  the older man whispered, almost too softly to hear.

“I don’t want to keep debating what was right or wrong,” Wonbin continued. “I don’t want to live my life deciding whether something was moral enough. I almost died, and I saw people die because of hatred that started long before me.” He inhaled deeply. “I just want to live. I want to build my life with him.” He gestured lightly toward the door, where Chanyoung’s silhouette could be seen through the glass. “I chose that.”

His father was crying silently now.

“Do you hate me?”

Wonbin took a few seconds before answering.

“No.” It was the truth, there was no hatred there. Only weariness. “I can’t change what happened. But I can decide what I do next and I’m choosing to leave this behind.”

His father covered his face, shoulders shaking.

Wonbin stood slowly and walked over and after a brief hesitation, he placed a hand on his father’s back.

“Live what you still have ahead of you,” he said quietly. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

After a few minutes, Wonbin picked up the envelope resting beside the tea.

“I came to give you this.”

His father wiped his face before accepting it. When he opened it and read, his breath faltered.

“A wedding…”

“A symbolic ceremony,” Wonbin explained. “But it’s real to us.”

His father’s hands trembled more than before.

“You’re… getting married.”

Wonbin offered a small smile.

“I am.”

The man began to cry again, but this time there wasn’t only guilt. There was something lighter mixed in.

“Your mother would have…” his voice broke “she would have been so happy.”

Wonbin felt his chest tighten, but this time it wasn’t old pain. It was a memory without poison.

The door slid open softly, and Chanyoung stepped back inside, respectful.

Wonbin’s father stood with effort and gave him a slight bow.

“Take care of him.”

Chanyoung didn’t hesitate.

“With my life.”

His father nodded, too emotional to answer.

Sushi, completely oblivious to the emotional intensity, jumped onto the couch and began grooming himself as if judging all the human dramatics around him.

Wonbin let out a soft laugh, and for the first time in that house, the past didn’t feel crushing. It felt distant, something that would stay behind because he was no longer carrying it.

 

 

The big day dawned clear and mild.

No sirens, no urgent phone calls, no shadows hiding in corners.

The ceremony was set in a simple but meaningful garden. White flowers lined the path, giving everything new meaning, new memories. Wooden chairs were arranged beneath tall trees, and a delicate arch decorated with lilies and violets stood at the front, chosen not for painful memory, but for the idea of rebirth.

Chanyoung’s mother coordinated everything with near-military efficiency, while his father greeted each guest with pride he couldn’t disguise.

Friends from the newsroom arrived together. Eunseok and Jina were officially together now, drawing quiet teasing. Taeyong appeared far too impeccably dressed for someone who “wasn’t dating” the chief of police, who just happened to be seated right beside him.

Sion arrived too, accompanied by a sweet-looking guy named Yushi. They were discreet and respectful. When Sion met Wonbin’s eyes before the ceremony began, he simply inclined his head in a silent gesture of peace.

Sushi, properly accessorized with a tiny bow tie, was kept under supervision to prevent him from storming the altar.

When the music began, the entire garden fell silent.

Chanyoung was already at the front, taking deep breaths, waiting.

And then Wonbin appeared.

The white suit fit him perfectly. The scar on his chest hidden beneath the fabric, not erased, but woven into his story.

He walked slowly down the flower-lined aisle, no fear in his eyes. Only certainty.

When he stopped in front of Chanyoung, they both laughed nervously at the same time.

“You look too good,” Wonbin whispered, holding his hand.

“You almost gave me another heart attack.”

Soft laughter rippled from the closest guests.

The vows weren’t long, they were honest.

“I promise to choose you every day, in the quiet ones and the chaotic ones. I promise that when fear shows up, I’ll remember we already survived the worst,” Chanyoung said first.

Wonbin took a deep breath before replying.

“I promise to truly live, without being trapped by anything. I promise to love you with the same courage that made me stay.”

There were tears. Many of them.

When they exchanged rings, the silence felt sacred.

“I love you,” they said at the same time, almost laughing at the coincidence.

And when they kissed, there wasn’t immediate applause, just a second of pure contemplation.

Then the garden exploded into clapping, whistles, and laughter.

Sushi broke free from supervision and trotted down the aisle as if he too wanted to participate officially.

The reception began at sunset.

String lights hanging from the trees flickered on as the sky darkened, and soft music filled the space.

Taeyong and Doyoung were caught dancing discreetly near the buffet. Eunseok refused to leave Jina’s side, though she tried to maintain professionalism until the third toast.

Shotaro talked with Wonbin for a long time, the beginning of a strong friendship, while Sungchan and Chanyoung watched from a distance, commenting quietly.

Wonbin’s father stayed quieter at first, but when Wonbin pulled him in for a photo beside Chanyoung, he smiled genuinely, a smile that, in that moment, carried no guilt.

Chanyoung’s mother cried every ten minutes, claiming it was “a flower allergy.”

At one point, Chanyoung pulled Wonbin to the center of the makeshift dance floor.

“Do you still get tired easily he asked softly.

 “No way.”

They danced slowly at first, then laughed when they lost the rhythm.

“Our movie turned out better than that one,” Wonbin murmured against his shoulder.

“Much better.”

Around them, friends toasted, conversations grew louder, laughter came freely.

No tragedy. Just music, soft lights, and hands that had no intention of letting go.

Later that night, Wonbin rested his head on Chanyoung’s shoulder and looked around.

“It was worth it.”

Chanyoung kissed his temple.

“Every second.”

And this time, the future didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like a promise.

 

 

The party was winding down. Some guests still laughed near the dessert table, others sat, tired and happy. The lights strung through the trees gave the garden an almost magical glow.

Wonbin had kicked off his shoes and was sitting in a chair, holding a glass of non-alcoholic sparkling wine, still mindful of his recovery, when Chanyoung approached with a far too suspicious expression.

“What did you do?” Wonbin asked immediately.

“Me? Nothing. I’m a transparent man

“You are very transparent when you make that face.”

Chanyoung handed him two small envelopes.

“Open them.”

Wonbin raised an eyebrow but opened the first.

He read quickly, blinked, and read again.

Plane tickets to Bali, departure in two days.

He looked up at Chanyoung.

“You…”

“Honeymoon,” Chanyoung said casually, far too proud to actually be casual. “I figured we deserved somewhere without sirens. Just the ocean, the sun, and you complaining that sand gets everywhere.”

Wonbin started laughing.

“You bought these in secret?”

“I have hidden talents.”

“Congratulations. You still manage to surprise me.”

Chanyoung shrugged.

“I promised to choose you every day. That includes choosing tropical destinations you’ve always wanted to visit.”

Wonbin stood and hugged him tightly, unconcerned with who was watching.

“I love you.”

No hesitation.

Chanyoung rested his forehead against his.

“I know.”

“Hey!” Wonbin protested, laughing. “You’re supposed to answer properly.”

“I love you too. More than any perfect plan.”

Around them, a few friends noticed and started teasing.

“Planning to run away already?”

“Come back tan!” Chanyoung’s mother called out, as always already aware of everything.

Sushi, currently being held by Eunseok, meowed loudly as if asking whether he was included in the trip.

“He’s not going. We’ll have to leave him with someone,” Wonbin said immediately, worried.

“He already hates me driving. Imagine flying,” Chanyoung joked.

“Leave him with us. I’ll use it to convince Sungchan we should adopt a pet too,” Shotaro offered, petting Sushi.

The cat seemed to understand and let out an exaggerated meow, drawing sincere laughter from everyone sharing the moment.

 

 

Two days later, the airport felt like just another beginning.

Wonbin held Chanyoung’s hand as they walked toward their gate.

No rush, no weight.

Before stepping through, Wonbin paused for a second.

“You know, I never imagined our story would end like this.”

“End?” Chanyoung corrected gently. “It’s just starting.”

Wonbin smiled. He couldn’t help thinking about everything, the fear that had haunted him for years, the bullet, the guilt he had chosen to leave behind.

Then he looked at the man beside him.

The man holding his hand with steady calm.

“I’d choose you again, again, and again,”Wonbin said quietly.

Chanyoung squeezed his fingers.

“Good. Because I never stopped choosing you.”

Their flight was called.

They walked forward together, without looking back.

The past stayed where it belonged.

The future wasn’t something frightening anymore. It was something built, day by day, toast by toast, laugh by laugh.

And somewhere between the sky and the sea in Bali, two men who had almost lost everything understood that “happily ever after” wasn’t a magical ending.

It was a continuous decision.

And they had already made theirs.

 

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who made it to the end of this story that meant so much to me. Thank you for all the support, and I hope we meet again in other stories. Until next time. ❤️

Notes:

English version of my work on Wattpad, originally written in Portuguese. English isn’t my first language, but I’m trying to improve, so I hope you like it!